


in the subtext, and all the overtones

by sandpapersnowman



Category: Talented Mr Ripley (1999)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Extended Scene, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Missing Scene, Neck Kissing, One-Sided Relationship, but only if you hate yourself!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 14:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: The night has been...Incredible.It takes Tom asking something as straightforward as joining him in the bath for Dickie to stop letting himself play along.





	in the subtext, and all the overtones

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [и в подтексте, и во всех намеках](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851082) by [Vinsachi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinsachi/pseuds/Vinsachi)



> title from the wombats' [I Don't Know Why I Like You But I Do](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/wombats/idontknowwhyilikeyoubutido.html)
> 
> this is..... just porn, tbh

"Dickie, wait," he whispers.

Tom stands as Dickie gets out of the bath. His cheeks burn, but he manages not to look down at Dickie's cock hanging between them.

"You're strange," Dickie tries to spit, but something like fear claws at the words as they come out.

"You're beautiful," Tom sighs back. He knows Dickie loves being told that, how attractive he is, how interesting and fun and _superior_ he is.

Dickie grins with only one corner of his mouth, and steps closer to get past him.

"Let me do something for you," Tom blurts out, on impulse, and takes Dickie's wet cock in his hand between them.

Dickie stills at that, even if it's only going to last a moment. Tom takes it.

"Let me do something for you," he says again, softer, and squeezes Dickie in his fingers.

He manages to keep touching him while Dickie considers it.

"Not here," Dickie hisses.

Tom nods.

"We could go to your bedroom?"

" _I'm_ going to my bedroom," Dickie spits, as his hand closes too hard around Tom's wrist to make him let go. His voice doesn't soften, but something weak twists into his tone that sounds a lot like _giving in_. "You can go too, if you _must_."

Tom hesitates, but...

He follows. It's permission, isn't it?

Dickie sits at the edge of his bed, oblivious to or uncaring of the way he dampens his blanket with the water still clinging to him. He doesn't say a word to Tom, barely looks at him, but he isn't closing himself off.

Tom sits beside him, one leg folded up onto the bed so he can face him, and reaches out for his thigh.

"Do you want me to?" Tom asks.

"No," Dickie says, without any heat in it. Bitterness, maybe, but not anger.

"Can I?" Tom asks instead.

Dickie doesn't answer. He won't -- can't, maybe, because of that fearful thing in him that tells him he can't be happy with Tom -- but Dickie isn’t stopping him.

Tom's fingers slide up his thigh to hold his cock again, and Dickie allows it. His fingers clench into the blankets while Tom touches him, and his jaw tightens, but he still doesn't stop him.

They're already close; Tom could easily lean in a little closer toward the pretty eyes under thick lashes, the pretty lips hanging open with pleasure and want on such a strict-looking face. What’s a kiss when Tom is already stroking him?

Dickie's fingers weave into his hair and yank him back before Tom can get close enough.

"No," he grunts, even as his hips fuck up shallowly into Tom's hand. "No kissing."

Tom swallows and whines in his throat, but he'll live. Getting to touch Dickie like this is enough.

He still strains forward against Dickie's hand, though. It doesn't have to be a kiss, just brushing his lips over Tom's would be fine. That'd be enough.

His scalp aches, but Dickie never eases his grip.

It's fine. He's still letting Tom touch him, pull gently over his cock and hover close, just not as close as Tom wants to be.

He should be going slower and savoring this, the way Dickie's eyes squeeze shut and the way his body leans closer to Tom's without realizing it, but Tom can't stop himself.

Plus, if he slowed, Dickie might snap out of whatever very specific mood he's in that he's letting this happen, and it'd probably kill Tom now to be rejected in the middle of it all.

He doesn't let up until Dickie's hips jerk into his hand and he has to stop biting his lip to finally choke out a groan.

There's a split second where Dickie's grip in his hair falters, where he's so lost while Tom strokes him through cumming up his chest and stomach, where Tom can _accidentally_ push forward just a little too far. And _oh_ , Dickie's lips are like hot coals from his warm breath and his dug-in teeth, and Tom's mouth burns like he's been scalded.

He basks in the feeling. He doesn't try to kiss him properly, as much as he wants to, but he doesn't dare pull away and let the contact end any sooner than it has to.

Dickie lets go of Tom's hair as he falls back on his bed, legs still hanging over the side while the rest of him melts into the blanket in afterglow.

Tom feels like he probably _should_ leave, like the scared parts of Dickie would want him to, but he stays instead. He doesn't fall like Dickie does, but lowers himself to the bed on his stomach, to sit on his elbows and watch Dickie catch his breath.

Dickie's eyes finally open again when his breathing steadies, and they find Tom's gaze easily in the low light of the room.

"Hey," Dickie mumbles, and reaches out.

His hand winds back into Tom's hair again, but this time, he pulls him _in_.

Dickie kissing him, well and truly _kissing_ him, feels like fireworks in his head. 

His mouth burns, and everything seems so bright and alien around him -- he feels like a different person. He feels like a _somebody_.

Dickie gives his mouth another slow clasp, and Tom makes the most pitiful, quiet moan when he feels Dickie's tongue rub over his lip.

"I'm not going to return it," he states, lazily mouthing down Tom's neck.

"I know," Tom says. He didn't expect _anything_ in return; Dickie's mouth on him is more than he'd ever dreamed of getting back.

Dickie's mouth moves over his Adam's apple before it runs back up to his ear. Tom is shivering, and he's sure Dickie can feel it. His eyes are practically rolled back in his head, focused too hard on Dickie's hot mouth and his breath tickling his skin like fire.

"Maybe next time."

It sounds noncommittal -- not the 'next time', but the 'maybe'. He certainly won't get Tom off next time, but there could be _a next time._

Tom laughs.

"You never have to return it," Tom sighs. "I don't mind."

Dickie laughs too, in hot breaths against his neck, and Tom sighs. Every point of contact between them feels like lightning, and Dickie's mouth is like shattered glass where he kisses him -- like his skin is pulled back and his soul is being cherished with every lave of Dickie's tongue.

Dickie bites suddenly, over his pulse, and under the thoughts of _pain_ and _good_ and _oh, God_ is the briefest image of how they must look right now -- Dickie still wet and naked from his bath, laying back with Tom pulled over his chest so he can kiss him. Dickie must be so gorgeous, all tan and lazy and spent, and he was good enough to take the time to even _acknowledge_ Tom and chose instead to kiss him and taste the worked-up sweat on his skin.

It's too much.

Dickie doesn't have to touch his cock at all -- Tom cums in his pants with a weak moan, a hand clutching at Dickie's shoulder and Dickie's teeth latched into his throat. Later he'll be worried about staining Dickie's blankets, his hips shoved down into the mattress to ease the odd pressure of cumming without being got off, but in the moment he's only worried about Dickie ever taking his mouth away.

"Jesus, Tom," Dickie scoffs into his jaw. It thankfully only sounds fond -- it would hurt so badly now for Dickie to be disgusted or amused by it. "Didn't know you were that desperate."

Tom laughs, pathetic and still wanting even as Dickie's mouth moves closer to his again, going as far as kissing Tom's overheated cheek.

"You're wonderful," Tom sighs, instead of anything between _that's never happened_ to _nobody else on Earth could do to me what you do to me_.

"Wish Marge was that easy," Dickie laughs to himself, and kisses Tom again.

He hopes Dickie doesn't notice how stiff he's gotten, or how he isn't kissing back. He hopes Dickie can't feel the cold dread wash over him as he's said Marge's name and reminded him this won't be normal, or romantic, or healthy. It _could_ be, but he won't let it. Dickie is not _his_ , even if _he_ is Dickie's.

Like most things, he supposes, if Dickie notices...

He doesn't care.

**Author's Note:**

> do you also think tom ripley deserved better? cry about it with me on [tumblr!](https://.www.sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com)


End file.
